"I'm old enough to know that a longer life isn't always a better one. In the end, you just get tired. Tired of the struggle. Tired of losing everyone that matters to you. Tired of watching everything turn to dust."
The End
His lab shone golden, the way it always used to when he entered the room and started working, his energy swirling, sparks flying. Magic at its best, thought Pernelle – she hadn't seen magic this way for hundreds of years. She hadn't seen him this way either. Death was really bringing Nicholas Flamel back to life.
It had been all right for him, he had acquaintances and didn't stray further into relationships than that. He had, of course lost people along the way, but no so much as she. He'd never been close to anyone really, too wrapped up in experiments and thought, slow, careful, meticulous and, yes, brilliant. But he didn't understand love like she. Hadn't been close to his family, like she. Lost his best friends, time after time, like she. He loved her, yes. But she wasn't sure it was even the kind of love capable of breaking his heart if she left, not the way all the people she lost broke her heart.
The war, the pain, the suffering, discrimination...Evil. It never ended. Six hundred years was long enough to prove that. While he was wrapped up in the discoveries, she was watching the destruction. The destruction definitely ruled, would always rule. Hurt, lies, tears, traitors and broken promises. She was tired, she told him, and she was ready.
"I know," he said, "You've lived. Felt, dreamed, cried…lived. You've done your share, you're exhausted. But what have I to show for nearly seven-hundred years? I tried so hard, and it turns out that the one thing I was good for –the stone, was never really any good at all. The only thing I ever created, almost aided further destruction. All I can say I ever did was drag our lives out. You touched people Pernelle, but really, seven hundred years, what does it mean but seven times the disappointment of everyone else?"
She walked up behind him, hands on his shoulders, looking down at the purple potion he was brewing. "I know. The best century was the first one. And that's what we've achieved, knowledge. Knowledge we could've lived without, but knowledge all the same. I am just thankful, that the time has been decided for us. I don't know how much longer I could've gone on."
"Nor I. I was living for you, not wanting to die without, or before you."
"And I was living for you, but neither of us were really living at all. This is a blessing Nicholas."
He turned to meet her eyes with his. They knew the time was coming now, it was a magic all on its own - how the inevitability of the situation made her eyes shine brighter, her face more beautiful than ever. He almost wanted another six hundred years to study this phenomenon. How having no time makes each second more valuable. How having forever makes the seconds dull, how six hundred and fifty five years could make the world look like a terrible place, but a hundred made it look comparatively kind. He almost wanted another six hundred years to study it, but not quite.
A hundred years was a reasonable amount of time to cling onto hope, thought Pernelle, six centuries was long enough to know there is no hope. There are only endings, and she was thankful that hers was coming at long last.